When do things start to deteriorate, to live just in people’s memories? To be a part of their past and never their present? This place, my ancestors used to call home, are where roots my veins are engraved in. All that’s left is a ghost town, the only thing that stand still are skeletons of the buildings that remain, left in the hands of those who do not understand it.
The strong women of my town have reclaimed this place that connected so many people. Like this town, the women of this town have also been neglected, deprived of their rights and deprived of knowledge. They stand, like the forgotten buildings, part of the landscape of society, but not considered a crucial part of the view.